


Fanfare for the Common Man

by ChrissiHR



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AND HE IS GETTING SO MANY, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Babies, Bucky is just a baby hog, Complete, Deal With It, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Gen, Other, POV Darcy Lewis, POV Tony Stark, Puppies, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers' 100th Birthday, Steve Rogers' birthday, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, babies and puppies, gleefully tosses canon in a blender, self-indulgent fluff okay, seriously, so much fluff like whoa, super soldiers with babies and puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: It's Steve Rogers' birthday again and he's tired of spending every birthday glad-handing politicians and covering his own ass (and Tony's) so they don't get sued by the city. For his 100th birthday, all Steve wants to do is something meaningful for others. Darcy can make that happen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was just minding my own business on YouTube Tuesday when this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMSvIQCorzI&t=0s) appeared on my feed and the story I wanted to write for Steve Rogers' birthday finally came together because there is NOTHING I like better than giving Steve Darcy, babies, and puppies, especially all at the same time.
> 
> I literally wrote both parts of this just last night. Zephrbabe and phoenix_173 very kindly beta'd it in the eleventh hour and I've given this first part one last, quick edit this morning, so any remaining errors are entirely mine. (Second part will be up as soon as I finish editing that, too!)
> 
> Suggested listening: "Fanfare for the Common Man" by Aaron Copland and "Coming Home (feat. Skylar Grey)" by Diddy

“Boss, there’s something you should see.”

“What’s up, Friday?” Tony asked, scooting out from under Pepper’s R8 to check the holoscreen over his work bench.

“Major-General Rogers and Sergeant-Major Barnes appear on every major news network at present, accompanied by Darcy Lewis from Stark Industries’ PR Department.”

On screen, Rogers sat in a recliner surrounded by bland hospital pastels, while women in scrubs piled up a trio of babies in patriotic onesies—one in each arm and one tucked up under his chin in the middle of his chest. Rogers beamed like a five year old laying in a pile of puppies.

“Tony?” Pepper called as the pneumatic doors shushed open to admit her to the work area below the private garage level. “Are you seeing this?” she asked, heels clicking across stained concrete to stand by his side in front of the wall of holoscreens showing Rogers, Barnes, and Lewis in private family videos across every social media platform visiting children’s hospitals all over the city since sunrise.

“What the hell’s going on?” Tony demanded, pulling up Twitter, tumblr, and Instagram to check them against the list of trending tags Friday displayed in the sidebar. “Shit, Pepper, I didn’t see anything like this on the schedule this morning. Was I supposed to…?” He wiped his hands, wondering how fast he could shower and put on something decent. He hated disappointing kids.

But Pepper only shook her head and murmured, “This isn’t us.”

Friday made a sound like clearing her throat. “Today is July 4th, the former major-general’s one-hundredth birthday. Since the discovery of the Valkyrie in the Arctic, the major-general has marked his modern birthdays with large, public events focused on his Captain America persona. As he put it, he’s spent every birthday since coming out of the ice ‘glad-handing politicians and trying to keep us from getting sued and screwed with our pants on by the city’. On several occasions in recent months, the major-general has indicated he would rather spend his birthday doing something meaningful for others rather than covering his own ass and yours, Boss.”

Tony snorted in amusement, but could hardly deny that particular truth.

“Friday, who did Steve arrange this with?” Pepper asked, her mask of concern melting when a new mother placed her red, white, and blue-clad baby into Steve’s enormous arms. “Did someone in PR arrange this without informing us?”

“Major-General Rogers has been seeing Darcy Lewis, Assistant Director of Stark Industries Personal Relations, socially since January of last year. I believe he first expressed his wish to spend his birthday in a more meaningful way as part of private discussion with his significant other after his birthday last year. When they returned with Sergeant-Major Barnes to his and Rogers’ former tower residence for a private dinner before the fireworks display on the roof, it came up in a discussion in the elevator.”

“Hang on—Rogers and Barnes don’t live here anymore?” Tony did _not_ yelp, but he _was_ surprised. “When did that happen? Nobody tells me anything...”

“His significant other…” Pepper mused, pulling up the PR file on Darcy Lewis, aged twenty-seven.

A new image flashed on screen, Darcy Lewis, hand-in-hand with Steve Rogers, with her free hand resting on the gently sloping swell of an obviously pregnant belly.

“The hell did they manage to keep that quiet?” Tony caught himself smiling as the image on the holoscreen flipped to the next family visited by Steve, his pregnant girlfriend, and the looming bulk of Barnes in the background.

“With his move late last year to a private residence in Brooklyn, I believe Major-General Rogers has made plain to the media his wish for a more _private_ private life,” Friday suggested. “The number of one-on-one interviews he grants to news outlets has increased by 300% compared to those granted to the media one year ago, while photographs taken during his off-duty hours have decreased to only those taken by private citizens and posted on private social media accounts.”

“So what’s going on here?” Tony indicated the holoscreen as his phone began to vibrate across the desk.

“That would be the switchboard, Boss. Dozens of polite inquiries have been coming in from other children’s hospital administrators across the country who would like to wish Captain America a happy birthday, and also would welcome visits from Avengers today or later this week to pick up birthday cards the children are making for him and the babies born today whom he's visiting at other hospitals. Ms. Lewis appears to have arranged for their small party to visit families of children born on today’s date as well as premature infants who will spend their first fourth of July in the hospital this year. Thus far today, their party appears to have visited five of the thirteen major hospitals specializing in pediatric care in the state of New York.”

“Page everyone who hasn’t gone home to spend the holiday with their families,” Pepper ordered Friday. “No costumes, no body armor. Plain clothes only, tell anyone who wants to help out to check in and we’ll arrange transportation. We’ll take requests for visits on a first come, first served basis in honor of Steve’s birthday—”

Friday interrupted, “Senior Airman Wilson says to tell you he’ll be at Children’s National in D.C., but he’s got his own car. He adds ‘it’d be great if you could send an extra pair of hands for all the drawings and cards I been asked to give to Captain America for his birthday’.”

“You heard the man, Friday.” Tony grinned. “Let’s get a couple of interns from our political affairs office in D.C. out there to give him a hand, preferably interns with siblings who won’t balk at being surrounded by babies and sick kids, okay?”

“You got it, Boss.”

“What about you?” Pepper nudged Tony as a map appeared in the upper right corner and icons representing his teammates appeared as each of them came online to check in and request extra hands like Wilson. A photo appeared on Twitter, Wanda standing beside a chalkboard covered in patriotic doodles surrounding a birthday message for Rogers.

“West Coast looks like it could use an Avenger or two,” Tony mused, then laughed when his phone lit up with an incoming call from Rhodey.

“My mama’s church lady gang just shoved fourteen dozen cookies at me and put me in a car with three youth pastors I’m not even sure are old enough to drive. I’m on my way to the base where they’ve got a ride waiting for me and my coterie of cookie bearers. I’ve got Oregon, Washington, and Vancouver. Where you headed?”

“On my way to L.A. I've got California and Nevada. Friday's gonna put out some calls to the B Team, see if we can't cover a little more ground together,” Tony informed his best friend as he strode to the elevator. “Pep?” he asked when he spun around in the waiting elevator car. “Coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

They flew together to California—Pep’s inaugural flight in the Rescue armor. They touched down at the house in Malibu to freshen up and wait for Pepper’s assistants from the L.A. office to join them for the ride to the hospital nearest the mansion. They worked their way up the coast, hitting another dozen hospitals as the Fantastic Four and Xavier’s X-Men joined in, blanketing the country with the caped and fantastic friends of Captain America, gently cradling newborns and listening to heartbreaking stories of premature babies fighting for every breath, collecting and forwarding birthday wishes of all kinds to Rogers via Twitter and Instagram and some new social sites even Tony hadn’t yet heard of.

At a children’s cancer center, Tony had the privilege of ringing the end of treatment bell with a little girl and boy.

They were going home.

On facebook, he live-streamed the moment when the two kids skipped ahead of him, hand-in-hand, out the front doors of the treatment center.

Muffled amongst the background noise, you could just barely hear the sound of Pepper sniffling back happy tears.

“Happy birthday, Captain America!” the kids left behind cheered for their moms’ camera phones when they gathered in the playroom to watch other kids like themselves all over the country meet their heroes.

In Florida, Pietro lined up to race with a half dozen older siblings of newborns, all of them wearing “I’m the Big Brother/Sister” T-shirts, including Pietro.

In Indiana, Clint passed out patriotic Nerf bows provided by a local toy store, playing foam dart tag on the playground on the roof of the hospital as happy moms and dads uploaded the footage of their little ones playing with an Avenger.

At the Shriners Hospital in Chicago, Natasha led a group of toddler girls in tiny hospital gowns through a series of ballet positions. Her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as she dipped and curved her arms high overhead, wearing a Captain America T with her favorite cutoff shorts. The little girls mobbed Natasha when the music stopped, hugging her legs and telling her she was their favorite Avenger. In the background, Bruce sat on the floor beside a little boy in a wheelchair, his right leg missing, bandaged below the knee. They spoke quietly, small smiles and small gestures, but they _were_ smiling.

In New Mexico, Thor and the Warriors Three staged a rowdy play at UNM, retelling the story of a young Thor’s great triumph over the rainiest day ever stuck indoors, minding his baby brother. At the back of the room, Dr. Foster and Lady Sif waited with indulgent smiles, arms full of handmade birthday cards scribbled full of crayon wishes for Captain America's 100th birthday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today also marks what would have been my husband's grandmother's 102nd birthday. She's buried in a plot behind the community library in a small town in the Poconos, her grave covered in all kinds of crazy Russian family mementos and patriotic nonsense today because my in-laws have no chill whatsoever. XD 
> 
> Happy birthday, Julia. Wherever you are now, I hope there's plenty of sherry to fuel your celebration and wholly inappropriate commentary about other peoples' boobs.

_ Best birthday ever. _

Darcy tapped out the caption and clicked “Share” to post her new favorite photo to their private Instagram account. Private for now, anyway. Steve and Bucky had big plans for a charitable foundation created in their mothers’ names.

After their little super bean came along.

“That better not be on facebook,” Bucky grumbled from the pile of pillows he somehow burrowed into with a healthy, albeit very tiny preemie recently named Rebecca. 

“Pfft! Please,” Darcy murmured, grinning at the former badass and current baby hog, “Only people my mother’s age still use facebook.”

“We're twice as old as your mother,” Steve interjected with a smirk from his spot at the other end of the sofa, holding an even tinier preemie named Benjamin. They decided to wrap up their busy Fourth of July marathon here at Children’s Community Hospital in Marine Park, Brooklyn. Two pairs of new moms and dads packed bags nearby and loaded up everything they’d need at the end of an extended stay while Steve and Bucky offered to cuddle their little ones in the lounge primarily used by families with preemies less than a day away from moving out of the neonatal care unit. 

Petite, but robust Baby Rebecca was less than an hour from going home. 

Little Benjamin would be transferring to a hospital more suited to his long term, cardiac needs.

When Steve blinked at Darcy with a drowsy, happy half-smile, she counted the day a success.

“Still worried about handling our little bean in a few months?” she checked, settling by his side when he sat up to make room for one more. She tapped the tiny toes pressing up inside her belly, tracing over each miniature bump until the baby retreated, giving a solid kick to her ribs instead.

Steve adjusted the sleeping preemie gently from his shoulder to the crook of his arm, brushing a tiny tuft of brown hair at the little guy’s temple. He couldn’t have weighed more than four pounds even. In fact, Darcy now knew exactly what a one-pound preemie looked like in the palm of Steve’s hand. She’d seen more than a few in just that spot today and the wonder of a tiny, determined little life cradled so tenderly by a pair of the strongest hands on the planet wasn’t something she’d forget anytime soon. 

“I’ll admit, I may have freaked out a little bit the first time I saw how tiny that one newborn diaper was when you wanted me to practice putting it on the baby’s Bucky Bear,” Steve conceded, “but, yeah, I’m… I’m over it. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Good.” Darcy laid her head on his shoulder. “Because my midwife has some concerns she’d like to discuss with Dr. Banner as the only known expert on your version of the serum.”

“I wondered when that would come up.” He huffed, screwing up his lips with brand new worries.

“I’m fine. Don’t be a dope.” Darcy butted his shoulder with her head. “It’s just a precaution.”

“ ‘kay.” He wrinkled his nose. “I just got anointed by another unimpressed baby.”

“One or Two?” Darcy giggled, sliding forward to struggle to her feet so she could flag down a passing nurse.

“Definitely a Two.” He pressed his lips together and it took all of her willpower not to cackle.

In short order, the babies were cleaned and returned to their much more relaxed parents. Bags were packed and travel carts loaded, with Steve and Bucky insisting on carrying their things for them so the new parents could focus on their babies. They parted ways at the elevators with hugs and promises to keep in touch with Benjamin’s family as they made their way to the medical transport awaiting them in the basement. Beside the Rogers-Barnes clan, Rebecca’s family breezed through the doors into the sultry summer night just as a late round of fireworks erupted over the bay.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” Rebecca’s mom repeated one last time as they climbed into the waiting SUV behind her parents. 

“Happy birthday, Steve,” Rebecca’s dad repeated. “Thank you for what you did today, you and your friends. We saw the others on TV. Looks like you’ve got a hell of a pile of birthday cards to read when you get home.”

“I’m sure I do.” Steve smiled the lazy, happy smile that meant the team was the furthest thing from his mind. “Drive safe now. And keep in touch!” 

More promises to call and text followed, then they were off and all that remained was the sound of fireworks building to a crescendo in the distance. 

“You wanna catch the train or wander home by way of that hipster ice cream place you like that’s open late?” Steve wrapped an arm around her lower back, rubbing the spot where she complained most about tight muscles by the end of her longest work days.

“Mmm… Ice cream.”

“Dunno why I even asked.” He rolled his eyes, but tightened his arm to pull her close for the walk home. Bucky took up the spot on her other side, preventing anyone from approaching them on the street side. And though it wasn’t terribly late, the streets were all but deserted with everyone seeking the nearest rooftop to watch the show overhead.

Darcy soaked in the heat radiating up from the pavement and laid her head on Steve's arm, momentarily sinking into the heavy lassitude of a day spent on the go from sunup until well past sundown. Her ankles ached only a little, but with a loose-limbed, happy Steve on one side and Bucky on her other—more relaxed than she’d ever seen him—she felt like she could walk another few miles if it meant this day could last just a little bit longer.

“You never got your watermelon,” Darcy pointed out with a tinge of regret. 

“We’ll eat it when we get home; go up to the terrace on the roof, crack it open, and stay up late watching a movie under the stars.”

“Pfft! She’ll be asleep as soon as her ice cream’s gone,” Bucky argued, kicking a bottle cap out of Darcy’s way.

“More watermelon for us, then.” Steve winked over her head and took her by surprise, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms while she was distracted. He carried her the entire twenty blocks, through the walk-up window at the ice cream shop, all the way back up to their new place in Ditmas Park.

“Oh, good, it’s here!” Darcy crowed when they approached the house to find a sleek, black sports car in the driveway.

“What’s here?” Steve asked, twisting so Bucky could fish the house key from his front pocket. 

“Your birthday present.” Darcy wiggled to be put down when the car door slid up out of the way and one of her favorite redheads spilled out onto the driveway with a wriggling pair of dogs, one sleek brown dachshund missing a front leg and a bulldog puppy having a hell of a time staying upright. 

“Hey…” Steve made sure Darcy was steady on her feet before dashing across the grass to meet their visitors. “These are the dogs from that shelter we visited two weeks ago!”

“They are. The dachshund is Molly. She’ll be seven next month. And this little Frenchie is Rosie.” Darcy waddled over to squat gingerly beside the grey bulldog puppy. “She’s going to need some surgery and therapy to correct the problem with her spine, which was the only thing keeping shelter visitors from considering her for adoption.”

“But not you,” Bucky surmised. He bent over to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “You done good, doll. And you…” He leered at Natasha. “Saw you on the news playin’ at the Shriners in Chicago today. Your grand jete needs work.”

“Your face needs an overhaul,” Natasha replied, unimpressed.

Bucky squawked in mock outrage. 

“She’s not wrong,” Steve joined in. “It’s real hard for the dames to see how pretty you are behind that big beak in the middle a’your face.”

“Says the big beak himself,” Bucky muttered. “Guess ‘s a good thing the folks sharin’ my bed see so good. Wouldn’t wanna be a burden.” He scooped up Natasha and rubbed his scruffy beard all along her neck until she squealed. “When  _ will _ Bird Brain be home?”

“As soon as he wins the last round of Nerf dart tag with the preteens up at Beth Israel.” Natasha answered, sounding bored. Then: “They threw down the gauntlet on Twitter. Lessons needed to be taught.”

The redhead turned, seeking Steve’s attention over Bucky’s shoulder. “Good day today?”

He smiled at his friend and partner. “The best. Best birthday ever. Wouldn’t change a thing.”

**Author's Note:**

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